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The side door closes softly behind them, muffling the sounds of the state party within. General Roy Mustang pauses behind his captain as she completes her standard 360 of the alley they’d come out in, only resuming his stride once her shoulders relax, the tell-tale fraction that means she’s noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He offers her his arm as he comes up beside her, and with a wry twist of her lips, Captain Riza Hawkeye obligingly links her arm through his.
“I think that went well,” Roy says, reaching up to loosen his tie a fraction and pop the first button of his shirt. He keeps his voice a bit lower than conversation volume; that seems more appropriate in the muted atmosphere of the dark alleyway, where the loudest noise is the occasional automobile passing farther ahead or behind.
“I did see you managed to speak with every official on your list,” Riza says, because naturally she managed to keep track of his progress while completing her own objectives. “Were they receptive?”
Roy pauses as Riza reaches down to adjust one of her heels. “General Ulroh was pretty sloshed by the time I got to him, so while the conversation went well I don’t know that he’ll remember anything of it.” Riza lets out a snort as she straightens, and they resume their amble towards the street. “Overall, not as well as we’d hoped, but about as well as we expected.” Being so close to the contested border with Aerugo, none of the ranking brass were supportive of the recent armistice, which was putting it mildly. The war dogs were not fans of Grumman’s pull from battle efforts, and were even less enthused that General Mustang—well known to be the aging Fuhrer's favored candidate for his successor—was pushing for a treaty. “How about you?”
“I didn’t get a chance to connect with Captain Nolan before he retired for the evening,” Riza reports. “But other than that I did manage to speak with everyone. Major Stemmler didn’t seem all that interested in what I had to say, however.”
“He wasn’t too unpleasant, was he?” Roy asks, keeping his voice as neutral as he can and purposely not looking at his captain.
The faintest sigh sounds beside him. “No more than usual, sir.”
“Usual” is already more disrespectful than Roy is willing to tolerate, but there isn’t anything to be done about it now, so he swallows his anger and files the information away for when he next runs into the Major. “That’s good.”
He’s still not looking at Riza, though he can feel her side-eyeing him. But to Roy’s relief she lets the subject drop.
Though, as it turns out, that might just be because she’s distracted. After only a few more steps, Riza lets out an entirely uncharacteristic noise of frustration. Releasing his arm, she falls into a crouch.
Surprised, Roy turns towards her. “Is everything all right, Captain?”
“Just one moment, sir,” she says, fiddling with the straps of her shoes. When she stands again, the pair of heels are in her hand, her expression satisfied.
Roy raises his eyebrows as they resume down the alley. “Are your shoes that uncomfortable?”
“They weren’t designed for such a wet, uneven surface.”
“Understandable. I didn’t think of that.”
A puddle spans the alley ahead of them, and Roy automatically offers his captain a hand to help steady her as she hops across.
“Your hands are freezing ,” Roy exclaims. Inwardly kicking himself, he glances his captain up and down, fully registering for the first time that she’s wearing only a (gorgeous) sleeveless gown in the chilly night air, and that there’s now nothing but nylon stockings between her feet and the damp asphalt.
“Captain,” Roy chides. “Here, let’s trade.” In a single deft movement he slips out of his suit jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. “Let me take your shoes.”
It’s a testament to how uncomfortable she is that she doesn’t protest. Hands now free, she pulls the jacket tighter around herself. “Thank you, sir.”
“Not at all, Captain.” He tosses her a grin, offering his arm again. “I wouldn’t be able to look my aunt in the eye when I see her next if I left a lady in such a predicament.”
Riza rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch as she takes his arm.
As they make their way further from the event hall, Roy feels the tension bleed from his shoulders. “Thanks,” he says quietly to his captain.
She simply inclines her head, expression softening.
Though Roy generally enjoys social events, in the past few months he’s attended enough to frustrate even him. He’s started reaching the point earlier and earlier where the company rankles him: the obsequious lackeys; the stuffy, naive officers who have never seen war; the even more priggish, self-righteous ones that have. They could have stayed longer tonight, but Roy had called it once his prime objectives were completed. His captain had not been thrilled with the idea of leaving through a side door to walk through an unfamiliar city after dark, but with one knowing look had acquiesced without complaint. Though years of practice have honed Roy’s skills at masking his emotions, there’s little he can hide from Riza, and the atmosphere had become too oppressive for him to suffer another moment.
Still, it’s to be expected the higher he rises in rank, so he’ll bear it gladly. For now, though, he’ll appreciate the respite and the satisfaction of a job well done.
By now Roy’s eyes have fully adjusted to the dimness of the alley. The quiet rumbling of the city around them—never truly sleeping—is a familiar, comfortable backdrop. Even the cool breeze is welcome, refreshing after the hot, stuffy banquet hall. He breathes in deeply, and though the mixing smells of cigarette smoke and dank rubbish isn’t exactly pleasant, it’s more genuine and grounding than anything he’s encountered so far this evening.
However, he can tell his captain is not as relieved. As they walk farther into the alley, deeper into the gloom, her grip tightens on his arm, eyes constantly roving the shadows around them. A good country girl, she’s never felt as at home in the urban landscape as he has. Moreover, South City is not Central, or even East, and they’re not on home turf. Their hotel is only a few blocks away, but it’s still longer than he knows she’d prefer to spend in an unfamiliar city after dark.
Her unease is palpable, and it begins to set Roy on edge, too. His captain may be overly cautious at times, but her instincts are unrivaled.
They’re nearly to the end of the alley when Roy feels Riza stiffen at his side. She stops in her tracks, tugging him to a stop as well before she pulls her arm from his. Surprised, Roy turns to her, a question on his lips—
Riza slams into him with all the strength of a fully armored Alphonse Elric. Roy staggers back, unstable, breath leaving him with a whoosh —
—at the same instant a gunshot cracks through the alley out of nowhere.
Momentarily winded, the gunshot echoing in his ears, it takes Roy precious seconds to get his feet back beneath him. He grabs Riza’s hand and pulls her into a side alley as shouts rise behind them.
Heartbeat pounding through his skull, Roy swallows a snarl, shoving aside outraged thoughts of who might be trying to kill them. That’s not a priority right now. Riza stumbles at his side and he readjusts his grip, helping her stay upright with sheer momentum. He’s not sure when he dropped her heels but that’s hardly important.
Flying out of the end of the alley, they can’t stop before they find themselves in the middle of the street, a car blaring as it skids to the side to avoid hitting them. Riza stumbles again as they reach the sidewalk on the other side. Roy instinctively releases her hand to grab her elbow instead, and she gasps. Pivoting hard, they race down the sidewalk to the sound of more shouts across the street. Roy yanks his captain into the first alley they come across—she lets out a low keen, and he winces, he knows he’s being rough—just before more gunshots sound behind them.
Riza stumbles a third time, breathing ragged, and that’s when Roy remembers she’s running barefoot. “Sorry, Captain,” he huffs, and doesn’t even break stride as he scoops her up into his arms.
She shudders, but doesn’t protest, which Roy finds odd but his thoughts are moving even faster than his legs and that observation gets left behind. Roy turns into another alley, trying to retrace their path with his mind’s eye, but he’s not been to South City nearly enough times to get a feel for its layout. He has no idea where they are.
He finds himself dashing across another street. This one’s dimmer and narrower, with no cars to avoid or shouts behind them this time, and hope flickers in Roy’s chest. Even with the adrenaline in his system, Riza is heavy in his arms, his legs and lungs are burning, and the front of his shirt is sticking to his chest, utterly soaked with sweat.
Roy ducks into the nearest alley, faltering as he slows. Riza shudders in his arms, right above where his heart is slamming into his ribcage. Panting, Roy twists to look behind them, but the only movement behind them are the ripples in the puddles he’s splashed through. The slap of his (probably ruined) dress shoes against the wet asphalt echoes damningly loud, and Roy grits his teeth against the irrational fear that the shadows themselves are watching.
“I think we lost them,” he says at last, glancing down—
It’s not sweat coating his shirt. It’s blood.
A lot of blood.
Roy forgets how to breathe.
A gold-toothed smile flashes behind his eyes. A human transmutation circle shimmers in the streetlights reflected on the wet asphalt. The looming buildings close in on him like a cavern.
“Captain!”
Roy falls to his knees. He slides his captain onto the ground before him, raking his gaze over her to try to find the source—
Panic rises in him, threatening to choke him, but he swallows it hard. He grabs a fistful of the suit jacket still draped over her, ready to press it to her wound, but he still doesn’t—there’s blood all over her left side, smeared down her arm, but he can’t tell—“ Where —?”
“Left . . . shoulder . . .”
As delicately as he can, Roy drapes his captain across his arm, finally noting the small hole in the jacket as he pulls it back gently. Riza lets out a hiss as it peels away.
There’s only one wound—no exit wound. Good. Her blood is a dark red, and seeps instead of spurts; not an artery. Double good. Roy balls up his suit jacket and presses it to her shoulder. Riza lets out another strangled hiss, and Roy’s heart twists, but he guides her hand to hold the fabric in place as he secures it off using the sleeves.
He sits back once it’s done, momentarily at a loss. Riza leans back against the wall, tilting her head back until it rests against the brick. Closing her eyes, a shudder wracks her frame, and the silver scar across her throat shivers in the dim streetlight.
Is there any part of her left that hasn’t been marred for his sake?
“Sir.”
He meets her eyes, though the coward in him wants to shy away. Her gaze, sharp as ever, cuts him to the core.
“My . . . choice,” she rasps.
He knows. He knows .
He loves her enough, trusts her enough, to make her own choice. She makes the same one every time.
It never gets any easier.
A splash sounds behind him. Roy turns to look over his shoulder to find shadows falling across the mouth of the alley. The goons who’ve spotted them call excitedly to their friends behind.
The panic he swallowed transmutes intp anger, a chimera that claws at his ribcage, that snarls up his throat.
It’s her choice. But she should never have had to make it.
Roy turns back to his captain, meeting her eyes once again. Despite himself, Roy feels one side of his mouth twitch at her expression. “Don’t bother asking me to leave you.”
“I wasn’t . . . going to,” she sighs, resigned. “We’ve been together . . . long enough. I know that . . . look.” She shifts, groaning. Roy reaches out to steady her, but all she does is pull a wrinkled, bloody lump from his jacket pocket.
His ignition gloves.
With clumsy fingers, she tries to pull them apart, but doesn’t quite have the dexterity. Roy takes them from her gently. His left glove is useless, utterly soaked with her blood, but the right is still clean enough to create a spark. It doesn’t matter that the array is covered—he can clap.
The fabric slides into place with the ease of years. The chimera rumbles with anticipation, but quiets as Riza places a hand on his arm.
“Don’t let it . . . take you,” she murmurs.
He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t,” he assures her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with his bare hand. “But you need to follow orders.”
He knows she’ll be okay when she rolls her eyes.
Footsteps splash in the puddle at the mouth of the alley. They’re approaching warily; they had the advantage of surprise, but now that’s gone. They had one shot, and they had missed.
But that hadn’t been their fatal mistake.
Roy stands slowly, turning as the attackers take their positions. He flexes his gloved fingers, feeling the material mold to his skin like it has so many times before. It’s warm and wet with his captain’s blood. The chimera’s roar fills his chest cavity.
He won’t break his promise to her, ever again. He won't let vengeance rule him. That's not who he is anymore.
But he doesn't need to be lenient, either.